Happy Birthday, Mr. Twister!

Mr. Twister just got a year younger! He now stands on the brink of entering his forties. Yes, the much dreaded decade where you know you arent getting any younger, your skin is showing faint wrinkles, your hair isnt getting any thicker, you gotta take care of your health, you need to spend more time with your loved ones, you need to revisit your life's plans, make smarter investments for the future etc etc.

I, of course, wont know how it feels like, unless I hit my forties, but the least I am hoping for is to be wiser than I am now. Less gullible, smarter, more efficient, better communicator, better connected, more culinary experiments, a 5K runner and perhaps, more patience thrown in, in this mix. It is about time I start collating my bucket list and start striking things off before it is too late.

Oh, looks like I unwittingly veered to my own self, but lets stick to Mr. Twister as this is his Birthday post. We, the 'family' met at a Thai joint for a laid-back evening dinner, post which Mr. Twister cut an appropriately-sized-for-audience  birthday cake, which he dubbed the $3 cake (which it sooo wasnt!), amid protests of 'nobody loves me' based on the size of the cake! All in fun, and I'm glad he continues to live up to his apt pseudonym!

Here's a little poem that I whipped up for Mr. Twister on his birthday.
God bless him and may he have a 'roaring' forties ahead of him.

I hear it’s a special day today,
Happy birthday to you, Mr. Twister
Hope your day is absolutely splendid,
Revelry, red wine, and oh, a feaster!

I hope and wish your dreams come true,
Spending quality time with your darling son,
Sumptuous food, happy wines, vineyard trips,
And even that year-long Europe vacation!

Today is your birthday, look in the mirror,
Nature has been fair - not one time, but tons,
We must say, you look not a day over thirty,
Or perhaps, thirty with nine years’ experience!

Age is just a number, albeit, a very telling one
No reason you can’t get wild & have lots of fun
You’re young at heart and can party till late,
Sure you'll manage to stay up least till eight!

Today, New Year resolutions, you can bend,
It’s all 'maaf' on your very special day,
Wanna revisit those 200 'exercise' hours?
Promise, we will look the other way!

Don't worry about the future; sure you'll have a bright one,
Don't worry about the past, it is all dusted and done,
Don't worry about the present, haven’t got one for you,
We know we had exactly a year's time, but hey - boo hoo!

But on your birthday, let us wish you plenty of joy,
Coz now, you’re on the right side of forty, in fact,
And with it, let us give you some pearls of wisdom too
Smile wide while you still have your teeth intact!

Love & god bless, always
S & K (in absentia)

Ever felt like a death row inmate?

Yeah, have you ever felt like a person on death row penalty about to be executed next day? That life, as you know it, is going to end tomorrow? All the things that you take for granted today are no longer going to be possible tomorrow? I have been there and believe me, it is not a very heart warming feeling! Here's how it all unfolded last week.

I had taken a simple Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT) for Diabetes and was pronounced 'borderline'. So, as any diligent doctor would advise, I was told to undergo a more rigorous GTT - one that involved fasting for 10-12 hours prior to first blood draw (fasting blood) and then blood draws every hour for 3 hours with nothing to eat in between. I heard about this test, and my first thought was, "What? 13-15 hours of starvation!That is crazy. There is no way I am going to survive it."

Well, the obedient patient that I am, I went ahead and scheduled the test. Monday morning - 7:30am. Calculating 10 hrs backwards (it is clearly bad judgement to fast for 12, when the mandate clearly stated anywhere from 10-12 hrs), I had to stop consuming food on Sunday evening, 9:30pm. That does seem a reasonable time to finish dinner and wake up the next morning, 7:30am for breakfast. But remember the catch - no food for additional 3 hours after that? That's when it gets downright unacceptable for my tummy - no food (or even the thought of it!) till 10:30am in the morning. Sigh!

Sunday dawned. Hearty, healthy breakfast. Hearty, healthy lunch. All hunky dory. Then starts this sinking feeling that my GTT results are gonna be positive i.e. I may be declared diabetic. That would mean an end to my sweet tooth cravings, my love for all-things-potato, or even the occasional indulgence of fried nothings. Hmm, not a good prospect at all. But hey, wait! Dont I have another meal to go before the test and all that inhuman diabolic fasting?

My mind went into an overdrive. What will be my last meal, if tomorrow (and every day, every meal thereafter) is going to be a low-carb-high-protein-high-fibre diet? It was going to be my very own version of  The Last Supper. And I have to make the most of it. That's when I started feeling like a death row inmate. Think big, think bad. Think super-size meals laden with lard. Sitting there, in front of the TV, all those tantalizing extra cheese pizza and inviting food commericals began to beckon me.

The 'Big Bang Theory' couldnt hold my attention any longer. Of course, I had more pressing and momentous plans to make. Plans that will have a long-standing effect on my psyche; decisions that will alter the course of my life if I am diagnosed with diabetes. The time had come. Tonight.
I promptly started getting visuals (and in some cases, even heightened sensory perceptions) of my favourite sinful foods that I can have for one last time before I leave my tad-imperfect-somewhat-transgressive-mostly-lusty foodie alter ego behind for good.

Well, I could go on and pour my then unstable emotions into words here, but sanity prevailed (no prizes for guessing that it wasnt me; all thanks are due to my level-headed husband) and all I had for my very own Last Supper was regular home-made food, with a little special to boost my plummeting morale - half a serving of the most delicious vanilla, strawberry banana split ice-cream, complete with rich chocolate sauce, roasted pistachios and walnut topping. Culinary H-e-a-v-e-n, if you ask me!

Also, to cut the long story short, I did show up at my scheduled appointment having religiously fasted for 10 full hours, starved myself for a good 3 more hours post that (and survived to tell this tale!) and gave 4 vials of my blood for a noble cause - to determine whether I'm at risk of the monster called Diabetes. And in the end, it was all for good because I am diagnosed with temporary diabetes and need to keep my edible desires in check for 3-4 months to come.

So, lettuce-cucumber-cherry tomatoes-spinach-salad, anyone?

Move... Moving... Moved!

Life is amazing. It is amazing how you get attached to things, people, places, names over a period of time. Well, I cant get too philosophical (it is so not me!), so I will be direct. We had been very stable (read: staying in one rented place) for the last 7 years. Not once did life throw this challenge of  'house move' in those 7 years. And then come 2011, we have moved home not once, not twice, but thrice! Now, that is way too much action for instability-challenged souls like me!

First move - March 2011

We shut shop from UK after being there for 7 years and moved to the US for good as a little adventure (not that we were leading drab lives or needed to infuse a little colour!). But deep inside I know I have left behind a significant part of me there. In the rented place that was our first marital home, in the kitchen that I used to so sincerely scrub and clean, in the living room where we have hosted so many parties, in the lush green porch where we soaked in the summer sun, every single place, thing has weaved and etched itself into the memory foam of my brain.

I also had the privilege of calling some utterly wonderful and gorgeous souls as friends in the UK. We enjoyed together, piled on each other, chatted into the wee hours of night, had girlie night outs, took vacations together, celebrated birthdays and anniversaries by throwing lavish parties, ah, life was all hunky-dory!

And then one fine day in March, we moved. The result - our entire married life and 12 combined years of tangible (and otherwise) UK memories jam-packed-till-the-seams-scream in 4 large and 2 small suitcases. Life can be cruel, at times!

Second move - July 2011

Landing straight into my brother-/sister-in-law's place in the US meant that we had a ready home and a ready family that proved so helpful in cushioning the blow of leaving UK and getting used to an utterly new country. It was a blissful three month period at their place. We bonded, we bantered, we undertook culinary exploits together, we explored new places, got accustomed to the new ways of life and above all, they made sure we were equipped to handle life on our own after the stay at their place. The icing on the cake was spending time with my 2.5 year old nephew who is now the second love of my life (after you-know-who!)

And then one fine day in July, we moved. We may have entered US with only 4+2 suitcases, but this time, apart from those, we had additional 12-15 boxes to set up life in the new unfurnished apartment. Here is how it looked like:

Third move - Dec 2011

The 6 month stay in our downtown apartment was exceptional. It was situated bang in the heart of downtown to walk to all nearby places and yet slightly away to qualify as peaceful as far as the hustle bustle was concerned. The apartment itself earned tick marks in all the right places - secure, posh, spacious, airy, warm, oodles of natural light, storage space, pantry - everything was just perfect. It was like staying in your very own upscale hotelroom. Plus, the apartment had a very good vibe to it - we have received some of our happiest news in this apartment.

For the first time in our lives, we started accumulating material possessions (read: vehicle, furniture, appliances, pots-pans et al) now that we planned to settle down. And like all good things come to an end (to make way for something better!), we had to start planning to move into a bigger space.

And one fine day in Dec, we moved. Can you believe the amount of painstaking packing that we had to do? Here's a pic. There were approx. 50 boxes (14 were exclusively kitchen ones), 8 bags and not to mention the big ticket items that couldnt be packed in boxes (TV, TV stand, sofa, bed, dresser, lamps, paintings etc). It was a massive project, without doubt.

It is amazing to see how much stuff one accumulates over a period of time. Imagine my surprise when I realised I was closer to being a hoarder than being an incarnation of Buddha! Remember, the realisation strikes only when it is time to move on.

Well, so much for having a move-free life for 7 years. I am sure, moving thrice in an year is His way of striking back at us. It is not just the packing, unpacking, repacking rigmarole but also space planning, refurnishing, address change notifications etc - basically, the whole shebang that comes with moving home. Hopefully, all this will come to an end in the near future once we settle down into our own place.

BTW, did I mention, we will be moving again after 7 months? Yeah baby, bring it on!

The hiatus is over

Ah, who would have predicted today will be the epic day! After all, it has been exactly 325 days that I havent written my mind (you see, I've spoken it all this while) and though my absence from the blogging scene has been in my thoughts, poking and prodding me oftimes during the not-much-to-do days, my actions were far from it. Until today. This moment.

And boy, am I glad or what! I am suddenly possessed with the energy (oh, you can argue that I have just had this full breakfast) and obsessed with the idea to draft, edit, complete and publish this post before I get up from this well cushioned seat. I dont remember when I had this feeling last. When I started writing my first blog, perhaps? Frankly, the reasons are still the same. My siblings have slowly, surely and committedly trudged their way into the blog-o-sphere while I have been decidedly lackadaisical in recent times. Until today.

I could cite a number of well arguable reasons to support my lazy-bum-phenomenon. Closing down our existence of 7 years in 30 days, packing it strictly in 4 big and 2 small suitcases, setting up life in a foreign place ~7500 Kms away, getting used to the new culture, new accent and their queer way of life, learning to survive (and thrive!) with what you have, zeroing on places to call home, investing in both necessities and comfort and accumulating material possessions along the way, building new social network from ground up while retaining the happy ties with last one and oh, not to forget the pleasurable exploits that come with exploring new places and sharing digital memories with your loved ones. So, there! I am sure you will agree that I have been so darn busy. Until today. 

I am ecstatic, today has happened. And I am convinced, if I keep believing in 'if it is to be, it is up to me', today will happen more regularly. At least, once a fortnight, I believe.

I know what you did last summer!

Has there been any incident where you have been ashamed of yourself? Ashamed beyond measure? All you wanted was to hide under the table or even disappear into thin air? Or turn back time to just before that sorry happening? Or even thought "how the hell did I let this happen? what on earth was I thinking?!.. I'm not like this!"? Ugh, imagine my horror when I did exactly this last week. And heaped all that embarrassment on my otherwise untainted soul because of a compelling conversation with the Devil's advocate followed by a very unthoughtful, brash action.

Swimming is my current passion as my earlier passion - running - has been temporarily taken away from me. I was frequenting this really convenient gym right across the street from office. So lunch hours were happily spent front crawling, stroking free style under water, dead floating or even teaching myself new techniques. Sometimes, I would go the gym with Ms. X (she's a good friend and a regular member of the same gym unlike moi, a provisional member). Usually, I was the only one in the pool at lunch times; so it was like a personal swimming pool, my own jacuzzi, sauna etc. Okay, you get the point; the gym, the location, the times, the free towel, an ocassional swim buddy - everything was just perfect.

And then just before the new year, my 6 week subscription ended. Since everything was working out so well, I decided to take up another similar membership. Now, their 6 week membership is an online exclusive offer where you have to pay the fee online and thus absolve the gym folks from doing any of the paperwork which is otherwise involved in the higher duration 6 months or 1 year contracts. All you then do is take those printouts to them where they will issue you with a temporary member pass. No photo, no fancy swipe card et al.

I made up my gym bag the following night, all enthusiastic about the prospects of re-joining the gym and hence continuing my lunch swim routine for another month and a half. Next morning, when I was just about to log on to the Gym website to pay the fee, I excitedly mentioned to X that I am taking another temporary membership, so we should plan and co-ordinate our gym times. X was glad to hear that and then suddenly she had a brain wave. As I would come to know later, it was only down hill from there.

X was about to go on a long leave of 6-8 weeks and she, being the good samaritan, offered me the use of her gym membership in her absence. So basically I pay nothing and still get to use the gym facilities daily. A pretty damning proposition! A part of me leapt to the idea, the other part hesitated. Wow, it cant get any better! My conscience swung into motion. That's wrong, of course.

Hey wait! Dont the gym guys know her already? Doesnt her gym swipe card have her mugshot? Living under constant fear of being found out, seeing red in every trainer's move - naah, this was certainly not a doable stunt on a daily basis for the next 45 days of my life! But X assured me that the gym folks can not make out one Indian girl from the other (ah, and I thought that was the prerogative of Sardarjees and Chinese!) Plus we have been to the gym together many times. So they wouldnt know who's who anyway. Also she has never given them her photo and nor have they asked her to pose for one. In fact her swipe card was not a photo ID. What if they have surreptitiously clicked one? Oh, in that case she would sue them for they are legally wrong!

The more I argued and reasoned with her, the more I was slipping away onto The Dark Side. Then X had another brain wave. How about trying out this stunt only for today? That way we can find it out for ourselves. Hmm. Now that was doable. Plus I had got my gym apparel with me anyway, so away I went, but not before practising X's signature (if prodded by the gym folks), memorizing her address, her birth date etc. Ah, a novice, but a thorough one!

2 mins and 50 steps later, I arrived at the Gym reception. My heart was pounding so loudly, I reckon the passerbys would have heard it! I confidently strode into the swipe area, wished the receptionist (my luck - the coarse & wicked Club Manager was manning it of all people!), swiped the card, collected my towel and was just about to slide away from his view, when the unthinkable happened. Mr.Wicked blurted "hey that's not your card!". My heart leapt. It was already doing a 300mph. Oh no, this is not happening. How can he know that? They dont have her photo. Just stay calm. It will pass. Then I started shooting from the hip.

Me (sounding really surprised but looking uncomfortable): Oh is it? Must've got exchanged with my friend. We usually come here together, you see.

Mr. Wicked: Oh that's not a problem. What's your name? I'll check it through my system.

Me (swallowing a lump in my throat): The surname's Bravo-Hotel-India-Delta-Echo.

Mr.W(typing again): Ah, I cant find that in the system. Are you not a permanent member?

Me (my legs are giving away at this point): Oh I have a 6 week membership.

Mr.W (his eyes are sparkling): Oh, that's why I cant see you in the system. But not a problem, we keep a separate register for the temporary ones. Let me check you in there.

I want to run away. I want to be anywhere on the face of this earth, but stand in the Gym reception in front of Mr.X hunting feverishly through his logs for my name.

Mr. W (looks like he found me in the temp register): Ah, arent you Sandy? Your subscription expired on 28th Dec. Plus you never had a swipe card like that. Remember, we gave you a small paper card with your name and expiry date written on it?

I am shrinking every millisecond.

Me (thinking honesty is the best policy, mumbling) Ya I know. My friend suggested that I try out her card for today. But anyway I'll get myself a new subscription online and come back. Sorry for that.

Mr.W: Ya I know, this is so embarrassing both for you and me, Sandy. You obviously knew and were still trying to sneak in. Return that card to your friend and tell her if she does it again, I'll have her membership permanently terminated.

I rush out of the gym with a rightly battered morale. Suddenly the 50 step walk to office seems so long. I feel like a common place thug who's felony has just been detected and worse, someone else will always hold the moral high ground. Sigh, the only thought that occupies me is how on earth did I let my morals just blow off like that or even stoop so low to commit such a cheap stunt.

No prizes for guessing I returned to office and straightaway logged on to buy my new membership! I returned to the gym after a couple of hours, with my head held high, and the online paperwork. Mr.W's shift must've ended by then, as some other receptionist made my new temporary card for another 6 weeks.

The next day however when I strode into the gym, chin up, Mr.W was astonished to see me (again!) He looked at me with those 'I-know-what-you-did-last-summer' looks while I flashed my new temporary card in his face. While he was eyeing it suspiciously, I filled him in on yesterday's details and apologised again for that temporary lapse of sanity on my part. All is well between us now. He knows me by my first name now and does not check my card when I saunter into the gym, as he is aware that it is valid till 1st week of March.

The fact remains, I am scarred for life. Am terribly glad I am scarred for life. So much for retribution!

Of Lists and Tick marks

list (n.) A series of names, words, or other items written, printed, or imagined one after the other.

Now, there are various ways in which you can split the entire world into – land and water, men and women, young and old, honest and dishonest, developed and under-developed, fatsos and skinnies, winners and losers, hunters and hunted, light and dark, us and them, good and evil, heck even Made-in-China and not Made-in-China and so on. However, in my opinion, the entire world is divided into two distinct sections - those who create lists and those who don’t.

Well, I claim ignorance about you, but I am officially besotted with creating lists. A list for everything and everything in a list. Welcome to the structured way of life. Write it on a piece of paper, remove it from your system RAM and do the task only when it needs to be done. No need for expensive stress buster therapies at a later point in life. Not sure how the non-list-creating populace keep innumerable things in their head (unless they have an elephantine memory). Surely they must be forgetting some things altogether. Even slipping on tasks or brushing some under the carpet.

I am sure most people are into the habit of making grocery shopping lists (to remind the husband to buy soy sauce too along with the tissues and spinach and 157 other things), but I have not seen many extending this concept into other areas of their life. How about things-to-do-for-weekend list, the weekly lunch planner, the never-forget-another-birthday list, the elaborate-affair-of-a-gala-dinner list, the things-to-do-before-you-die list, the eateries-to-visit list, the books-lent list, the dues-to-pay list, the songs-to-download wishlist et al?

I like to think that the real list-o-maniac prefers the real handwritten lists to the virtual excelsheets. Though you can sort and do all sorts of things with the excelsheets, the satisfaction, the euphoric feeling that you get on completing a task and putting that all-important physical tick in the box on a real list is divine. And if you are smitten like I am, you can sometimes finish the tasks first, add them to the list and and then promptly tick it off. Now that's what I call a real indulgence.

Well, I am delighted that I have completed and published this blog post. Now excuse me please, I have a task to tick off.

What rhymes with fat?

What rhymes with 'fat'?! Of course I know what you would say - bat, cat, hat, mat, pat, rat, sat etc. Well, I mean, for what rhyme (or reason) could God have created this unnecessary and absolutely non-essential thing?

I find it disconcerting to think that the same Omniscient who created potatoes, weaved the possibility of humans finding a life-altering fluid called oil, threw in the prospect of these two being combined to create the super delightful 'french fries', could conjure up something so wickedly dreary called 'fat' that it would need to be avoided by large (both literally and figuratively) sections of the society!

Now that's not a very equal God, eh?